MARTINEZ, Calif. — The legend of California naturalist John Muir has achieved immortality. With luck, so will his one special tree.

Only a seedling when transplanted by Muir from the rugged Sierra Nevada mountains to his California East Bay orchard in the 1880s, the giant sequoia is now fatally infected.

But a campaign has begun to perpetuate the storied tree, through a painstaking process of cloning. While Muir’s plant will die, its replica could live on — continuing a cultural legacy on the grounds of what is now the John Muir National Historic Site in Martinez, Calif.

“It is a visible, tangible, living link to the past — Muir and his life and his stories,” said arborist Keith Park of the historic site, who climbed 30 feet up the tree to trim cuttings to clone. “It has succeeded, to a point. But it is sick.”

The project is an experiment with no guarantee of success. Giant sequoias are notoriously difficult to grow from cuttings; there is no evidence that it has ever been done. And, like their parent, the tree’s clones could also succumb in a dry, flat place full of pathogens; Muir was apparently unfamiliar with the risks of relocation.

Signs of hope exist in the 2-inch cuttings, nurtured by third-generation arborist David Milarch of the Archangel Ancient Tree Archive. The nonprofit group based in Copemish, Mich., is dedicated to “historic botany,” reproducing the world’s oldest, largest and most meaningful trees.

“You can see the bright yellow dots — they’re new growth,” Milarch said. Roots may not appear for months.

The 700 tiny cuttings are coaxed to grow in a domed capsule next to Milarch’s desk — near a wall portrait of Muir — where Milarch can closely control soil, water and air temperature. They’ve been dipped into cocktails of rooting hormones, vitamins and antibiotics; four recipes were tested. The pH of the water matches rain. They get 18 hours of light. Twice daily, they are sprayed with water, keeping humidity at a moist 80 percent.

“It’s nerve-racking. They are real finicky,” he said. “We’re trying to create the exact scenario of where they love to grow.”

“We pray for them,” he said. “It’s never been done before. Experts say it won’t work.”

The original tree was likely dug up during Muir’s 1884 trip to Yosemite, then planted near the family’s Victorian home atop a barren hill in Martinez. It can be seen, protected by a crate, in an 1885 photo.

Muir transplanted many species, but giant sequoias held a special affection. In one letter, written with sequoia sap, he writes: “Do behold the King in his glory, King Sequoia! Behold! Behold! The King tree and I have sworn eternal love.”

Now, the needles of the statuesque 70-foot tree he nurtured are browning, due to infection by the fungus Botryosphaeria dothidea, a vascular disease that blocks the flow of water and nutrients. Since Muir’s time, this has emerged as a common ailment for Bay Area giant sequoias, which prefer high altitudes; lean, rocky soil; and winter snowdrifts. Unlike their coastal redwood cousins, giant sequoias suffer in Bay Area yards.

“So far, it is hanging in there. It could go on for decades and decades,” Park said. “But eventually, the tree will succumb.”

To get cuttings, the arborist climbed up into the newest growth. Then he had them certified for interstate travel, packed them up in a plastic bag with a damp towel, and mailed them to Michigan.

Milarch welcomed them with evangelical zeal. After a near-death experience 19 years ago while quitting drinking, he had a spiritual awakening. In his book, “The Man Who Planted Trees,” he tells of being visited by a spirit who warned him that “the big trees were dying” — and instructed him to “build an ark that will hold the genetics of the greatest trees on Earth.”

His small group has big ambitions: mass-produce trees with proven longevity, size or history. The goal is to clone the best example of each of the 826 species of trees in the United States, make hundreds of thousands of copies, and plant the offspring in living archival libraries around the country.

The group has cloned white oaks in Maryland, dawn redwoods in China, cedars in Florida, yews in Europe and even Methuselah, the gnarly, 4,870-year-old bristlecone pine in California’s Inyo National Forest.

The Archangel Ancient Tree Archive cloned a white mulberry from George Washington’s front yard at Mount Vernon and tulip poplars dating to Thomas Jefferson’s days at Monticello. It cloned the European copper beech that Theodore Roosevelt planted at his Oyster Bay, N.Y., estate in 1894 and a tree that reportedly once shaded Abraham Lincoln.

But Muir’s tree may pose the biggest challenge. “It doesn’t make sense,” said Gary Moll, of the Maryland-based Global Ecosystem Center and one of the nation’s authorities on urban forestry. Planting giant sequoias in Martinez “so far from their natural habitat creates an outrageous problem to deal with.”

Undaunted, Milarch dotes on the tiny cuttings, calling them “living witnesses to John Muir’s life — a man who preserved millions and millions of acres from development, so future generations could enjoy nature.”

“The tree was something he loved and lived with,” he said. “How can you thank a man enough?”

Lisa M. Krieger is a science writer at The Mercury News, covering research, scientific policy and environmental news from Stanford University, the University of California, NASA-Ames, U.S. Geological Survey and other Bay Area-based research facilities. Lisa also contributes to the Videography team. She graduated from Duke University with a degree in biology. Outside of work, she enjoys photography, backpacking, swimming and bird-watching.

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